


The Devil's Dance

by slipshod



Category: The Middleman (TV)
Genre: Episode Related, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-22
Updated: 2013-12-22
Packaged: 2018-01-05 14:38:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1095139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slipshod/pseuds/slipshod
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Episode insert for The Flying Fish Zombification.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Devil's Dance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nitpickyabouttrains](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nitpickyabouttrains/gifts).



> This is very vaguely Middleman/Wendy because I feel about the Middleman the way Lacey feels about the Middleman and therefore couldn't help myself.

The Middleman says he's going to teach her the Devil's Dance so they can get past the zombified hotties. He doesn't explain much to her beforehand, says that it will be easier to figure it out by touch, which Wendy understands. She limbers up a bit, stretches, because she had already had an intense day of punching stuff  _before_ she met up with the giant murderous pike. She even takes a moment to flex her fingers, figuring this might involve a lot of wiggling her way between bones into pressure points. Wendy has always valued her hands as an artist, but she doesn't think she really fully appreciated them until today.

When they begin, though, he's got his hand on her waist, like a real dance. 

"Is this, like, a real dance?" Wendy asks, glancing down at the narrow space between them. 

"This position is just to get us started. But in a way, yes. By now I'm sure you've noticed that many forms of martial arts are very similar to dancing."

In the air beside their heads, he squeezes her hand, calling her to attention. He steps forward into her space and she steps back exactly enough to accommodate him. The Middleman smiles. He leads them into a musicless waltz.

"You're a swell dancer, Dubbie," he says as he turns her past a crate of !!!!. "I can tell this isn't your first lesson."

Wendy grins and looks at his tie. "Yeah, is that because of my 'swell' dancing or because my ballroom dance classes are in my psych profile under Traumatic Childhood Experiences? Hey, by the way, how long is this going to take?"

"You're a very receptive partner," he tells her, not answering her questions--yep, those lessons were definitely referenced in her file--and she looks back up at him. "That's highly important in performing the Devil's Dance. In essence, we must move as one person."

He's really close to her, and she feels awkward. His voice, close to her ear, is gravelly and low. She swallows. "Yeah, but one _super_ _deadly_ person, right?" she says. 

"You bet your sparkly, trouty dress, Dubbie." He pulls her closer, despite the troutiness of her dress, and they begin to move faster. "You see, dance is an art of passion, tempered by perfect form and self control. Self control is vital, Wendy." He growls her name out like it's got four syllables.

 "Did you ever take dance classes when you were a kid?" 

"I'm afraid I can't answer that. Sorry."

"What could I possibly do with that information?" she asks him, lifting her hand away from his arm to gesture. "Also that's obviously a yes. Do you know what was the worst part of those things? When you had to ask someone to dance. Even though you knew they had to say yes, because those were the rules. Actually I said no to someone once, but it wasn't personal or anything. The only--oh." 

She realizes she's rambling mid-ramble, and about a half a second before he suddenly dips her low, though his face stays only a few inches from her's. Wendy grabs at him instinctively, gripping his shoulder. He looks down at her hand disapprovingly, and she follows his eyes with her own. "You have to trust me, Dubbie. It's imperative." Her hand looks so tiny wrapped around his ridiculous huge shoulder. Of course he wouldn't drop her. He could probably lift three of her. She looks back up at him and he's looking right at her again, a reassuring glint in his eyes. He wouldn't drop her. He's the Middleman.

She lets her arms drop to her side and relaxes swiftly and completely, so she becomes dead weight in his arms. But he just holds her there against his chest, watching her, for what feels to her like forever. Then he gives a little nod, like he's finally satisfied, and eases them back upright. She puts her right hand back in his and her left back on his shoulder. 

He says nothing at first but leads her back into their dance, occasionally pulling her in an unexpected direction. She nearly falters on a couple of moves. She moves fast and manages to keep her feet under her, but it's close enough that it's noticeable. 

"Remember your control," the Middleman says, voice just above a whisper. "Discipline like that--like Sensei Ping taught you today--can give you great power in battle. But dance is also an art. An act of love, and trust. A duet. Of being in perfect synch with one's partner. You and I must work together like interlocking parts of a perfect machine, Dubbie. A weapon. What makes the Devil's Dance so effective is that it harnesses something beautiful and pure, and transforms it into something dangerous. A potentially lethal force."

While the Middleman's hypnotic speech is rumbling in her ear, Wendy ends up thinking some vaguely unladylike thoughts about him and grosses herself out. For a second she understands why Lacey gets so moony around this guy. "Oh, gross," she says aloud. She shudders, and when he doesn't immediately react, she shoves him a little. To her surprise, he simply rolls with the push, turning back in the other direction. 

"That's good. Real good. Both parties lead."

Wendy can feel that her face is hot, but focuses on the movement instead of anything potentially awkward. She catches on quickly and they start going off book with increasing ease. Eventually they are fluid, an extension of each other, just like the Middleman had talked about. By the time he declares her ready, winding them back down to a motionless cradle, Wendy is out of breath. 

"You're a good teacher," she tells him. He smiles his six-thousand watt smile at her and she feels her hand move up toward his neck. "Y'know, I know I'm Sensei Ping's new favorite and everything," she continues, and the Middleman's face falls to something like a scowl. "But you're still my favorite, man." 

He does not at all appear to take heart from her addendum. 


End file.
